The Empty Hearse
by Cahaya Nightdreamer
Summary: Basically, S03E01 with Irene Adler part of it. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: Ok, so I played with the idea about Irene Adler being part of Season 3, returning _with_ Sherlock. So…AU, characters might seem OOC…BTW, _NOTHING_ to do with my other story 'Wedding Dance', though the reviews there made me try this out…:)**

* * *

Prologue:

'Time to come back, brother _dear_.' Mycroft pulled back. 'Back to Baker Street, _Sherlock Holmes_.'

* * *

'Bungee cord, Molly Hooper?' Lestrade's voice was disbelieving as he snorted. 'Yeah, Anderson, and I'm the Queen of Britain. Forget it.'

Anderson tried to make Lestrade see the logic behind it. 'But he's still alive!'

'Well, Philip, I'll tell you what it means. It's guilt. You're guilty because you sent him to his death.' Lestrade picked up the styrofoam cup, and handed Anderson another. 'Sherlock Holmes is dead, and there is nothing you can do to bring him back.'

He walked towards the group of reporters.

'_Sherlock Holmes, after much discussion, had been found innocent, and Richard Brook had been a creation of Moriarty. The whole Court is in uproar about this, but all of it comes too late for the detective, who jumped from St. Bartholomew's roof 2 years ago._

_'The only thing on people's minds now is: Why did the police let matters get so far?_'

Lestrade sighed, and raised his cup to Anderson. 'To an old friend.'

Anderson, though reluctant, raised his cup and mimicked the move. 'To Sherlock Holmes.'

Both of them downed the cup in one gulp.

* * *

John sighed as he stared at his best friend's grave. Even 2 years after his death, he still couldn't help the immense guilt that was settling down on him.

He sighed, and reached out for Mary's hand.

Mary.

Thank God for her, or else he would have sunk into a pit of depression. He had actually considered going back to Afghanistan to fight in the war again, but was, surprisingly, stopped at it by no one other than Mycroft Holmes.

John had ignored the man, as always, but had taken his words into account, and then bumped into Mary, and things had quickly escalated from there.

Mary kissed his cheek, and looked at the grave. She had heard many great things about Sherlock Holmes from John, and had tried her best to keep his spirits bright. She wondered briefly whether she and him would get along. From his stories, she and Sherlock would have.

Unknown to both of them, a woman, with her brunette hair tied in a bun, wearing a dark black jacket and some jeans tucked into winter boots, turned and briskly left the graveyard.

She took out her phone, and texted him.

_Both still grieving – IA_

_Both? - SH_

_Mary and John. We have to get his moustache off him. He looks ancient. – IA_

_Agreed - Sh. _

* * *

'You've been busy.' This was directed at the Consulting Detective lying down. 'You got yourself in deep trouble there with,' Mycroft idly flipped the file, finding the name he needed. 'Baron Maupertius. Quite a scandal. But you're safe now.' There was a silence as Sherlock lay there, clearly thinking it through.

Sherlock merely hummed in agreement. Mycroft continued. 'A Thank You would go amiss.'

'What for?'

'For wading in like that. Without me, you wouldn't have gotten out.'

Sherlock scowled. 'No, _I_ got me out.' He sat up. 'Why didn't you interfere sooner?'

'I couldn't blow my cover, now could I?' Mycroft asked, only to be interrupted.

'You were enjoying it.' Sherlock was studying him now, carefully, with a hint of menace in his eyes.

Mycroft snorted. 'Don't be absurd-'

'_Definitely_ enjoying it.' Sherlock spat, before lying back down again.

'Listen, Sherlock, do you have any idea what it was like to go undercover? The noise, the _people_!' He huffed, and sat back down.

'I didn't know you spoke Serbian.'

'I didn't. But the language has a Slavic root, with frequent German and Turkish loan words. Took me a couple of hours.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You're slowing down.'

'Middle age, brother mine. It gets to us all.' Mycroft sighed. 'But to our next subject.'

'The Woman.' Sherlock sighed as well. 'I told you already, Mycroft, that you can't interrupt everything into your own liking.'

Mycroft scowled. 'I know you rescued her.'

'Only now, brother dear?' Sherlock asked in a mocking tone. 'You're slowing down. Terribly.'

Mycroft frowned. 'What is she doing in London?'

Sherlock sat up once more. 'The only thing Irene-'

'Oh, are we on first name basis now?' Mycroft interrupted mockingly, but Sherlock ignored him.

'The only thing that Irene had to fear was from Moriarty's Network, because of all of her history. Now that the government had seized control of it, it means that the only thing she has to fear of is the British Government.' Sherlock shot his brother a meaningful look.

Mycroft sighed. 'Have you grown sentimental, younger brother?'

Sherlock smirked. 'Well, you have to take care of Irene.'

'And why would I do that?'

'Because she has-' Sherlock cut himself off as "Anthea" entered, carrying his suit. For the first and possibly only time in his life, Mycroft cursed "Anthea's" presence. He sighed as Sherlock left to get dressed, and turned to Anthea, who handed him his folder.

Sherlock came back soon enough.

'I need you to give this matter your full attention.' Mycroft faced Sherlock, who was tucking in his white shirt.

'What do you think of this shirt?' He stared in the mirror.

'Sherlock!' Mycroft snapped. "Anthea" came in now, seeing that she needed to intervene.

'There is going to be a terrorist strike on London. A big one.' Sherlock frowned, and turned away. 'One of our men _died_ getting this information.'

Sherlock scowled, before turning to Mycroft. 'I'm busy.'

'No, you're not.' Mycroft interrupted, increasingly frustrated. Sherlock probably saw it as he smirked.

'Don't worry, Mycroft. I'll look at your "Terrorist Strike".' Sherlock assured his brother. 'Now, where is it?'

'Where's what?' Mycroft asked.

Sherlock shot him a look. 'You _know_ what.' Someone cleared their throat at the door, and all of them turned, to see Irene standing at the door, holding Sherlock's coat in her hands. Sherlock smiled at her, and put it on, before exhaling deeply.

'Time to go back to London.' He turned and offered the lady his arm. 'Coming, Ms. Adler?'


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

Chapter 1:

John fiddled nervously with his bowtie as he looked around, waiting for someone. Irene smiled as she purred into Sherlock's ear. 'My, my, doesn't our army doctor look dashing?'

Sherlock smirked at her, and then turned back to John, though he still spoke to her. 'And he's safe?'

Irene nodded. 'The most trustworthy person I know, Sherlock darling.' Sherlock smiled at her as her features also softened and she smiled. She was taking a huge risk coming without disguising herself, but Sherlock had Mycroft's promise that he would keep her safe.

Both of them headed over to a table near John's, with both watching John closely as he looked around, miraculously not seeing Irene nor Sherlock. A woman came down with short blond hair, dressed in a beautiful dress.

'Mary.' Irene murmured to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, having already deduced it, and wondered about how he would actually approach John. His thoughts were interrupted when he felt Irene's leg, under the table and covered by the long tablecloth, making it's way up the middle of both his legs.

He frowned at her, but she only let out a smirk.

'Irene.' He growled in a low voice. He knew without looking that his pupils had dilated, and could see the same thing happen to her.

She smirked at him again, and then turned her attention back on the couple, letting her leg move higher up still, before Sherlock acted, trapping it in between his legs. Irene turned and raised an eyebrow, before both of them regained their composure as a waiter came over.

Both ordered some wine, before turning back to John and Mary. Sherlock took out his phone, and Irene raised an eyebrow, gesturing to John.

Sherlock nodded.

* * *

John was having the time of his life. He was about to open the ring and ask, before his phone beeped. Mary grinned at it, and John mentally cursed his phone as he took it out, and quickly apologised to Mary as he opened the text.

_Look to the table on your right – SH_

John froze, and dropped his phone on the table.

Mary frowned. 'John?' John was still staring at his phone, before he inhaled shakily, and turned to his right. Sherlock and Irene were staring right back at him.

Without even thinking, John stood up, dinner forgotten as Mary followed him, worried.

She was right to.

As soon as John was within arm's length distance of Sherlock, he tried to strangle him, throwing him to the floor. Irene stood up, unperturbed, as the glass of wine toppled on where she had previously been sitting.

With Mary's help, she tried to pry John off Sherlock, but she also started conversation with Mary. 'You are Mary?'

Mary nodded. 'Do I know you?'

'I suppose that I am on John's blog.' Irene said.

It only took a few seconds for Mary to realise who she was talking to. 'Irene Adler.' Irene smiled at Mary, but backed away in time as John turned to try and corner her.

* * *

After being kicked out of a fancy restaurant (John _had_ grabbed his ring in time), they were now sitting at a small cafe in the corner, somewhere away from Baker Street.

John was fuming, with Mary wrapped up in Sherlock's coat, having been forced to leave her own coat behind. Irene was also wearing a thick coat that reminded Mary of Sherlock's own one, though she was certain that they were not the same.

'Who knew?' John growled out.

Sherlock frowned, but answered anyway. Mary noted that Irene was the one giving him instructions; little signs whether or not to say or stop. 'Molly Hooper. Mycroft. Irene.' John scowled at the Woman beside Sherlock, her arm over his. 'And a few of my Homeless Network.'

John snarled out his reply. 'Oh, so Mycroft, Molly, Irene.' He frowned. 'And a few hundred tramps.'

Sherlock frowned again. 'No. Only about 25.' John lunged at him across the table, with Irene only pulling Sherlock out of the way in time, or else will have hurt him severely.

* * *

Now at a small sandwich bar, they were talking again, with Sherlock pointing at John's moustache. 'You're _really_ going to keep that?'

John nodded, arms crossed, ignoring Sherlock's split lip, which Irene was dabbing carefully with a paper towel. 'Yeah. Mary likes it.'

'Mm...' Irene hummed. 'No, she doesn't.'

'Yes she does.' John turned to Mary, who looked down sheepishly. 'Oh, great!'

Mary was trying hard not to laugh. 'God. I'm so sorry, I-I didn't know how to tell you-' A person leaned over to them, and whispered to them whether or not they could take their argument outside. All of them left, with Mary looking at Sherlock in amusement.

'You don't know much about human nature at all, do you?'

Sherlock frowned. 'Nature? No. Human? No.'

Irene laughed. 'I'm still tutoring him.' Mary smiled at Irene.

'It's nice to meet the both of you. I'll talk him round.' Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, but nodded. When both of them left in a cab, Irene turned to Sherlock and pulled him down for a kiss.

'Should we return to Baker Street?'

'Can't forget about Nero.' Sherlock pointed out.

Irene smirked. 'I had the caretaker send him back home.'


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: Sorry! Wrong thing posted...**

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Chapter 2:

John sighed as he looked around. He turned to Mary, pecked her on the lips, and then turned. 'I'm going to go to work now.'

'Alright.' Mary smiled at him. 'Are you going to talk to Sherlock?'

'I'm going to work.' John frowned.

'Oh, so you're going to talk to Sherlock after work then?'

'No.'

Mary pecked him on the lips. 'I'm glad you at least shaved it off.' She said, motioning to his lips, where his moustache formerly sat. 'I'll join you later.'

John smiled at her, before leaving. He wondered briefly whether Mrs. Hudson now knew that Sherlock and...the _Woman_ was now still alive. He sighed. Possibly. Sherlock didn't have any place to stay in except for 221B, and he wouldn't go to his brother for help.

He sighed, and then seeing the hospital loom overhead him, entered, closing the doors with a swish, wondering what horrors the hospital could inflict on him today.

* * *

'There are people over London, people who work for the same person. Sometimes, it's not a question of who. It's a question of who knows. If this man cancels his papers, I need to now. If this woman leaves London without putting her dogs in kennels, I need to know. I have certain people. They are markers. If they move, I'll know something's up. Like rats deserting a sinking ship. That would mean that they are leaving. Deserting the sinking ship like a horde of rats.'

'All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to critical.' Mycroft drawled

'Boring.' Sherlock moved a piece. 'Your move.' Mycroft frowned at his brother, wanting him to see how serious this was.

'We have solid information. An attack is coming.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Solid information, a secret terrorist organisation is planning an attack. That's what secret terrorist organisations do, isn't it. It's their version of golf.'

Mycroft frowned. 'An agent gave his life to tell us that.'

'Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done. Very clearly just trying to show off.' Mycroft was silent as he debated on the probability of that.

'None of these markers of yours is in any way behaving suspiciously?' He moved another piece. 'Your move.'

'No Mycroft, but you'll have to trust me. I'll find the answer. But it'll be in an odd phrase in an on-line blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced lonely hearts ad.' Sherlock moved another piece. 'Your move.'

'I've given the Prime Minister my personal reassurance that you're on the case.' Mycroft sighed as he made his move.

'I am on the case; we're both on the case, look at us now.' Sherlock watched his brother carefully.

The beeping went off. 'Oh bugger!' Mycroft dropped the piece back inside.

'Whoopsy!' Sherlock was obviously enjoying this. 'Can't handle a broken heart. How very telling.'

Mycroft looked up almost threateningly. 'Don't be smart.'

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. 'That takes me back.' He changed his voice to one of an imitation of Mycroft when he was younger. 'Don't be smart Sherlock, I'm the smart one.'

Mycroft frowned. 'I am the smart one.' He mimicked his brother's movement, leaning back in his chair.

'I used to think that I was an idiot.' A bit of resentment was mixed into it.

'We both thought you were an idiot Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, until we met..._other children_.' From his tone, one could guess that it hadn't been a pleasant affair.

'Oh yes.' Sherlock frowned. 'That was a mistake.'

'Ghastly. What _were_ they thinking off?' Mycroft seemed genuinely confused and in disbelief.

'I think they were going on with something about making friends.'

Mycroft snorted. 'Of course, you go for that sort of thing now.'

Sherlock frowned. 'What about you?'

'Pardon?' Mycroft frowned. 'If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what normal people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish.'

'Ah.' Sherlock smirked. 'But I've been away for two years. I thought you might have found yourself a...goldfish.'

Mycroft frowned. 'That certainly didn't stop _you_ from finding a partner.'

Sherlock's smirk grew. 'But she isn't _just_ any goldfish, is she?' He looked up as Mrs. Hudson came in, carrying tea and still gushing over how lovely it was that Sherlock was sitting in his seat. Sherlock smiled, pleased with the attention, before Mrs. Hudson asked him a question.

'Do you mind if I take the little one out? I wanted to ask Irene, but she's sleeping.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Go ahead.'

Mrs. Hudson smiled as she walked downstairs. Sherlock stood up and made his way to where his client had left his hat. He opened his mouth to speak, but noticed Mycroft watching her go. 'Do you honestly think that this is a good idea?'

'Yes.' Sherlock looked up. 'But, then again, I always am.'

* * *

'Darling.' Irene's voice drifted from upstairs. Sherlock smiled at her as she entered, and stormy grey eyes met glasz. Irene was dressed to go out, though Sherlock knew she had no plans. 'What are you doing today? Where is Nero? And Mycroft?'

Sherlock smirked at her tone. 'Going out to see a client about something. Mrs. Hudson brought him out. Mycroft was ah, concerned, but left.'

'Should I go with you?' Irene purred.

Sherlock looked around. 'Best to stay here first. I'll go out on my own.' He pecked Irene's lips, before seeming to consider something. 'Then, again, Lestrade's asking me about a case. Not sure about it. You go to Lestrade. I'll tell him I'm sending someone.'

Irene smirked, and turned to grab Sherlock's coat, giving it to him. 'What are we waiting for?'

* * *

Lestrade stared at the rather gorgeous woman that came in, shot him a brief smile, and began to look around the room, muttering to herself.

'I'm sorry?'

Irene smiled at him. 'Hello. I'm here on Sherlock's behalf.' Lestrade nodded slowly. 'You received his text, yes?'

Lestrade nodded, still staring, before seemingly snapping himself out of it, and gestured to the skeleton. 'All yours.' If Sherlock deemed this not important enough for his attention, but still important enough to send someone, then he might as well let this woman see it.

Irene smirked, and as if reading his mind, answered the question. 'I'm afraid Sherlock has other business to attend to, Detective Inspector...Lestrade, was it?'

Lestrade nodded as she went over everything, and then pulled out a book. _How I Did It, by Jack the Ripper._ She snorted. 'Some sort of prank, Inspector. I'm afraid that someone set the police up.' The Detective Inspector frowned.

'Who would do this?'

'Who indeed.' Irene smiled, before looking at her watch. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get going.' As Lestrade watch her disappear out of the door, he realised that he hadn't even asked her for her name.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: Hm…added my own twist to this…enjoying it so far…thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

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Chapter 3:

Sherlock sighed as he knocked, and a man, around average age, slightly round, answered the door. 'Sherlock Holmes.'

Sherlock nodded, handing him his hat. 'Here.'

'Thanks for holding onto that.' The man turned. As he entered what he thought was a study, he noticed many trains all around. 'Mr. Holmes, I like trains.'

Sherlock nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 'I can see that.' Irene had been trying to coach his patience, but it was hard. Thankfully, it seemed to be paying off. The sentence wasn't said as blunt as he would have before.

'I work at the tube, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been checked.' He sat down at a chair, and faced a computer screen. Sherlock looked on from behind the man. 'And I found something a bit bizarre. Watch.'

A lone man stepped into a carriage. 'This man steps into the last train at Westminster and,' he pointed at another screen as the train arrived. 'arrives at St. James' Park Station. And now, he is nowhere to be seen. There is _absolutely_ no where he could go. No maintenance tunnels, nothing.'

'He couldn't jump out?' Sherlock confirmed. The man nodded.

'There is a security mechanism that prevents the doors from opening when the train is moving. A man gets in, and then disappears in the next station. Explain that, Mr. Holmes.'

Sherlock smirked, thrilled by the chance of a new case, and nodded, before turning to leave. 'Be ready for any questions I will ask you later on.'

The man nodded, slightly bewildered, before he heard the front door slam shut.

* * *

Mary walked along, smiling. Her phone beeped, and she took it out, seeing a text.

_Save souls now! John or James Watson? _

She frowned, and opened another text.

_Saint or Sinner? James or John? The more is Less?_

Figuring it out, her eyes widened, and she started to run, trying desperately to find a cab. She finally caught one, and, flushed, shot out her destination to the taxi driver. '221B Baker Street!'

* * *

Irene frowned, looking up as Sherlock entered, carrying a packet of fish and chips. She smiled slightly, before Sherlock frowned at her, noticing her anxiety.

'What's wrong?'

'Nero's gone.'

Sherlock froze. 'What do you mean?'

Irene looked at him worriedly. 'Mrs. Hudson brought him back, and he was playing downstairs, where Mrs. Hudson could see him. I just found out. Mrs. Hudson was unconscious but okay. But Nero's _gone_. I went out and searched for an hour, before coming back to check up on Mrs. Hudson.'

Both turned as they heard a knock on the door. Sherlock rushed down, Irene not too far behind him. 'Mary?' Sherlock asked, opening the door for her. Mary instantly showed him her phone.

'Someone sent me this. At first, I thought it was this Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip code.' Irene bent over, while Sherlock frowned at Mary, before looking at the screen.

'Save John Watson. First every word, and then every third.' Irene looked at it.

'Save John Watson...now!' Sherlock looked up, eyes wide in panic. Irene heard her phone ping, and pulled it out of her pocket, before freezing in pure terror.

'Nero!'

'Who?' Mary asked, confused.

'Our son!' Irene shoved past them, and ran out onto the street, with Sherlock and Mary close behind. Sherlock pulled Irene back right before a car zoomed by at high speed. Looking around, Sherlock's eyes fell on two motorcycles.

'You know how to ride a motorcycle, don't you, Irene?' Irene saw where he was looking, and nodded. Both ran over, with Mary following Sherlock, panic grabbing hold of her.

* * *

John groaned as he tried to remember what had happened. Someone had injected something into him, and he looked around. It was dark.

He could faintly hear screams of enjoyment from outside, and felt the blood tricking down his face.

Trying to regain his senses, he realised that he was partly paralysed.

Panic seized him as he heard someone from the outside speaking. 'This isn't going to light up. Get us some oil!'

* * *

They moved quickly, Mary clinging onto Sherlock tightly, and Irene right behind Sherlock's motorcycle. 'Where're we going?'

'St. James the Less. It's a church!' Sherlock yelled back.

'What are they going to do to them?!' Mary asked once more.

'I don't know!' Was her answer as Irene started to go faster. They moved quickly, with Mary still trying to make sure she didn't fall off, yet having complete faith in Sherlock because of John's blog. Irene was visibly pale in the darkness.

They continued on, a motorcycle being easier to maneuver in this emergency. They turned into a parking lot near a tube station, ignoring the policeman who shouted at them.

'Oi! You can't go there!'

Sherlock and Irene ignored the policeman, and went down the stairs, going on a straight path. Sherlock was having trouble breathing properly. If anything happened to Nero because of him...

Irene was feeling the same way as a mother, and the terror was nearly choking her. She followed Sherlock numbly, glad of his knowledge of London to get to the church quickly.

* * *

John groaned as he tried to move, finding out that the thing was starting to wear off, and he was slowly able to move. He let out a moan, and tried to speak, but found no word would come out of his mouth.

He tried to turn his head, and though it was painful, he soon realised that he was looking into glasz eyes.

* * *

Zoë looked at the bonfire, having a bad feeling. For some reason, she knew that they shouldn't do this, and turned to her father. 'Daddy, the Guy doesn't like it.' But her dad shoved her off.

'Stay back, Zoë.'

When he lit the fire, a muffled yell came from the inside.

Her father tried to cover her away as another yell came from inside.

Zoë screamed.

* * *

John let out another muffled yell as he realised the pale skin belonging to a child, lying next to him. God. A _child_. What kind of sick person or people would do this to a mere _child_?

No more than a year old too, looking absolutely terrified. He tried to move his mouth, but found that he was unable to.

* * *

They stopped at where a huge bonfire was burning, and Irene screamed in despair, following as Sherlock shoved past the crowd, not caring about anything except the bonfire.

Mary followed, only to be outpaced by Irene as she pushed past people, even knocking people down.

Sherlock shifted some pieces of wood away, not caring how the fire was starting to singe his bare hands. Irene, having already been wearing gloves, followed suit, with Mary also helping out, the crowd watching in barely concealed horror.

As they shifted another piece of wood, a young child crying got their attention.

Irene began her search more frantically. 'Nero! Nero!' The crying got louder. Sherlock finally shifted a thick piece of wood away, where there revealed a small compartment. He dragged someone out, revealed to be John, and Mary dragged him a safe distance from the fire, glancing anxiously at him and then back at the fire.

Sherlock was still going through the bonfire. Irene was right next to him, calling out Nero's name. As the crying got clearer, Sherlock lunged forward, and grabbed Nero, scooping him safely out of reach and moving away, pulling Irene with him as the wood collapsed, having needed the strong support that Sherlock, Irene and Mary had removed in their frantic look.

Irene grabbed Nero from Sherlock, and gently shook him, gesturing for Sherlock to look at John. After a moment's hesitation, looking at Nero, Sherlock turned to John. 'John.'

John groaned, and Mary laughed in relief, with Irene smiling as she gently rocked the terrified child to sleep.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: Thanks to anyone who reviewed…getting to the end of the story. Might do the Sign of Three next, but need to finish it, unfortunately…sigh…anyway, review!**

* * *

Chapter 4:

'...which wasn't the way I put it at all, the silly woman.' Mrs. Holmes droned on, looking at Sherlock with affection, smiling proudly as he looked at his son closely, who was now playing with Irene's hair. Irene sat across him, too relieved to care.

Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Holmes had instantly taken a liking to Irene, seeing how she was a sort of equal to Sherlock, and Irene liked them as well.

'He's always losing things down the sofa, aren't you, dear?' She turned to Mr. Holmes, who nodded. 'Keys, change, sweeties, even his glasses.'

'Glasses.' Mr. Holmes nodded, echoing a second after her.

'Blooming things. I said why don't you get a change, wear them around your neck, and he told me, what, like Larry Grayson!'

Again, Mr. Holmes echoed after her.

Irene smiled at the comment as Sherlock walked past them, onto the table, and onto the sofa, with both parents moving out of the way in time. Irene tutted in disapproval, but Sherlock either didn't hear it, or he ignored it.

'So, did you find your lottery ticket?'

Mrs. Holmes nodded. 'Yes. We caught the carriage in time, after all.' She smiled. 'We saw St. Paul, Big Ben, the Tower of London, but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament.'

Sherlock looked down. 'Parliament?'

She nodded. 'Some sort of big debate going on in there.'

Irene noted the way that Sherlock looked right now, and turned as John came in, before hastily backing out. 'Sorry. You're busy.'

'No, they were just leaving.'

'We were?' Mrs. Holmes frowned as Sherlock gathered them up and shooed them out of the door. 'Oh yes, remember to visit. We're here till Saturday.' Irene stifled a giggle as Sherlock spoke at the same time.

'Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out!'

'Yeah, well, give us a ring.' As Sherlock made to close the door on them, a boot interfered. He sighed as Mrs. Holmes leaned in. 'You don't know how relieved we were, those people thinking the worse.'

He nodded, and tried to close the door, only to find another boot stopping it. 'Take care.' Mr. Holmes said this time. 'She worries.'

'Yes, yes, I'll call.'

'Promise?' Mrs. Holmes looked at him sternly. Sherlock took a quick glance back, then sighed in resignation.

'Promise.' Mrs. Holmes smiled and placed a hand on Sherlock's cheek before Sherlock turned and slammed the door on them. Irene tutted.

'Sherlock, that is not how you treat guests.'

'Yes. That is how you treat _parents_.'

'Well.' John looked up from where he had previously been staring at Nero. 'Wait. Those...those were your _parents_?'

'Why?'

Sherlock nodded. John walked over to the window to get a second look. 'They look so...normal.'

Irene laughed. 'They may look normal, but I can assure you, Dr. Watson, that Sherlock's mother is a renowned mathematician, before she gave it all up.'

John nodded slowly, and then frowned. 'Did they know about-'

Irene smiled as Sherlock raised his hands. 'Sorry! Sorry! Sorry again.'

'No wonder I didn't see them at the funeral.' John then faced Sherlock. 'You've been busy.' Sherlock frowned, tilting his head.

John looked at Nero, who was looking back with the same eyes as his father. 'How old?'

Irene answered. '11 months.'

'Um, congratulations.' John clearly looked uncomfortable with Irene. Though she kept her confidence, her haughty look, there was something about her that seemed to have softened, something he also saw in Sherlock, who was smiling at the child almost..tenderly. 'He's...' He strained to recall the name. 'Nero?'

Irene nodded, but Sherlock was the one who spoke. 'You look well.' John nodded at the stitches in his head. They hurt slightly, but it meant that he got special absence from work.

'Oh, and how's Nero?'

'Fine.' Irene smiled. John studied the baby. Even though young, he had already gotten some of Sherlock's dark curls. His eyes, lips and cheekbones were also remarkably similar to Sherlock's, but his jaw, nose and forehead were, without a doubt, Irene's.

'He's...cute.' John studied Nero, and found the nearly scrutinising gaze he was returned with extremely intimidating, something he got from Sherlock, no doubt. 'Well, what is it?'

Sherlock gestured to his laptop, and showed him what happened. Irene was still carrying Nero as she also bent over to watch. 'There has to be something, something-What's today's date?'

Irene's eyes widened as she answered, also reaching the same conclusion as him. 'November 5th.'

John froze. 'Remember, remember.'

'The fifth of November.' Irene continued, her posture not slipping.

'Gunpowder, treason and plot.' Sherlock finished, voice low. He replayed the video as he paced around the room. 'It has to be something. Something obvious.' Irene stared at the video as she continued his line of thought.

'Something staring at us straight in the face.'

Nero gurgled happily, and they turned to him, where he was playing with his fingers, showing his hand, and then either raising or folding fingers down, like a sort of game. Sherlock's frown disappeared, and he grinned, walking over to Nero and kissing him on the forehead.

'Nero, you're a genius!' Nero giggled in obvious delight.

John snorted. 'Of course he is. He's _your_ child, isn't he?' Sherlock and Irene smirked, but then played the video again.

'Six carriages leave Westminster. And only five reaches St. James' Park station. Lord Moran didn't just disappear-'

'Lord Moran?' John asked, slightly lost.

Sherlock frowned. 'Yes. Peer of the Realm.' His eyes lit up. 'The debate on the anti-terrorism bill is tonight, and everyone will be there...except for Lord Moran.'

He grinned, and then turned, pecked Irene on the lips, threw on his coat, and left, calling out to John as he thundered down the stairs.

John hesitated, looking at Irene, but the ex-Dominatrix smiled. 'Don't worry about me, John, I'll manage. Just make sure he doesn't blow himself up.'

The army doctor nodded, and left quickly, wondering how on earth he was absorbing this information so quickly, but then realised that his friend was the reason of it. Getting used to Sherlock's sudden explosive lifestyle had John easily adapting.


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

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**AN: First things first…thanks to those who reviewed! And hope you enjoy this last chapter…will be doing Sign of Three sometime soon… **

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Chapter 5:

'Where are we going?' John asked as they sat in the cab. Sherlock had checked his phone, read a text, and they set off.

'Sumatra Road. There was a station built there, but it was closed before it was every opened. It is right beneath the Palace of Westminster.'

'And how do you know this?'

'Was a case. The man worked at the tube. Gave me all info that I needed.' Sherlock waved his phone, before hopping out of the cab, letting John pay. John sighed as he dug out his wallet (he was going to go bankrupt if he kept on paying for Sherlock's cabs), and followed Sherlock.

They reached a sort of tunnel in the wall, covered by some gates. With some simple picking the lock, Sherlock got in first.

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Irene rocked Nero anxiously, while the child cooed and slowly went to sleep. She wondered where Sherlock and John were. The last time Sherlock had texted her had been before he entered the tunnels, where there was now no signal.

She waited nervously, smiling at Mrs. Hudson as she dropped by, giving her some tea and biscuits.

Mary came by as well, and Irene was surprised to find that they got along quite well. Mary immediately loved Nero on seeing him. Mary, being used to John's odd lifestyle, helped her relate to Irene, who had to deal with Sherlock, though, to be fair, both of them were equals.

Irene set Nero down in his cot, which was now in the living room (there was also one in their bedroom so that if anything happened, they would know. If Sherlock woke up early, or didn't sleep at all, he took care of Nero until Irene woke).

She then offered Mary some tea, which Mary accepted. There was something about Mary that Irene couldn't pin down for some reason, but she knew that Sherlock knew.

Irene smirked, knowing that she would easily be able to extract the information from him now that they trusted each other, and let down their shields a lot more. Unfortunately, that meant that Sherlock would know what she was doing, and would refuse to give any information.

She glanced up at the clock, and was surprised at how fast time passed. About 3 hours passed, and still no sign of Sherlock.

Mary was also starting to look worried as Irene took out her phone and dialled Sherlock's phone. She didn't know why, but when she heard the familiar baritone, a great weight she didn't even know was there was lifted off her.

He seemed relieved to hear from her too. He informed her of how they were heading home, and she made sure Nero was fine. With Sherlock's reluctant approval, she had invited over Lestrade and Molly, having heard how the young woman had helped Sherlock stage his death.

Mrs. Hudson had been extremely helpful, providing drinks and food.

She had taken an intense liking to Nero, and doted on him, even though he had been introduced to her for about, say 2-3 days. Nero seemed to like her as well, gargling happily every time she entered the same room as him.

Sherlock and John arrived home first, of course, followed closely by Lestrade, who stared at Irene, and then at Nero, and then had looked at Sherlock, who didn't even look up from his laptop.

Not too soon after, Molly came, and introduced her fiancé, Tom. Irene noted mentally that Tom looked like Sherlock, with the lines of his face softer maybe, but didn't say anything.

Of course, soon enough, everyone started to coo over Nero, who enjoyed the attention. Irene presumed that he got that from both her and Sherlock, who also loved being the centre of attention. Irene was also surprised that the people could get used to this rather quickly, though, she thought, having Sherlock Holmes in your life probably helped with dealing the unexpected.

However, she was worried about what Nero could do.

He had his father's smile, and while on Sherlock, his 'kicked puppy' face and smile was charming if he put enough effort into it, Nero was slightly the same. He had his what Irene had dubbed 'Bambi eyes', and an adorable smile that could make _anyone_ do what he wanted to.

In fact, the only one who didn't give in was Sherlock, who had, according to Mycroft, used the same look before when he was younger.

Soon enough, though, John and Sherlock turned to leave to face the media downstairs.

When everyone had left, and Mrs. Hudson went back downstairs, Irene tucked Nero into the cot in their bedroom, and turned to kiss Sherlock goodnight. 'It's nice to be back in London, isn't it, darling?'

Irene deliberately only used 'darling' on Sherlock. He didn't like any other name, and was already used to the name. However, the one which he absolutely hated was 'Honey', from before with Moriarty.

Frankly, Irene understood.

And so, when they went to bed that night, Irene pecked Sherlock on his lips, knowing that he still had nightmares. 'I'm here.'


End file.
